Grief and Guilt
by Pandemon
Summary: Two characters try to cope after the events of OotP. Please read and review. Contains spoilers.


**_A/N:_**_ I always said that I would never, ever write Harry Potter fan fiction. It's already an overcrowded fandom and it really doesn't need one more writer like me to add her input, I told myself. But then along came the Order of the __Phoenix__, and I found I couldn't help but leap on the angst bandwagon. And this is my first fic, which has been written since shortly after OotP but not posted until now. I know I sound like I'm making excuses, but please forgive me if this is rubbish, and please tell me know what I can do to improve it, and especially please point out any retarded mistakes I've made, since it's unbeta'd. The ending seems worse the more I read it, so please forgive me for that as well. This is set in the summer after fifth year, and goes on the premise that Harry ends up in __Grimmauld Place__ again sometime during the holidays, having already spent time at the Dursleys'.   _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own Harry Potter. Or Remus Lupin (yet). I don't even own the computer I'm typing on. In fact, I own so little that suing me wouldn't really be worth your while. _

**_Warning:_**_ Big spoilers for Book 5. But is there really anyone reading HP fan fiction who hasn't read Book 5 yet?_

**Grief and Guilt**

I wake up with a start, mentally thanking whatever has dragged me up out of my nightmare. Usually, nothing wakes me. I am forced to watch the scene play out, until someone dies. Sometimes it's me. That's bad enough. But more frequently, it's someone else. That's worse. My parents, or Cedric, or... Sirius. What links these people? They all died because of me.

Tonight, it was going to be Sirius. We were in the Department of Mysteries, and in the room where that innocent-looking, treacherous veil hung. Whatever it was that woke me, I am grateful to it, because it has postponed the moment when I will have to watch that death again. But what was it? I strain my ears for some sound that could have roused me.

Silence.

No, not quiet silence. There is an intermittent noise. However, it is nearly inaudible, and I cannot identify it. Probably nothing, but I know I won't sleep again until I have found where it is coming from. I put my wand into my pajama pocket and slip out of the door, shutting it as quietly as possible.

The dust in the air of the landing hangs heavily; the hot summer night is oppressive, but because of Moody's obsession with security, no-one ever opens a window in 12 Grimmauld Place. The sound is louder now, and it is a human one. It sounds like... it sounds just like someone weeping. I hesitate, but carry on. Who would be crying now?

I identify the source of the noise as being the second to last door on the left, at the end of the long landing. I have forgotten whose bedroom this is. Should I enter, or not? I am thinking probably _not, when some sort of force seizes my arm and I twist the handle, unthinkingly, compelled to go in. There is a candle burning brightly on the bedside table, and I can see easily. _

Professor... no, Remus, as he practically ordered me to call him when I arrived here. He is lying turned towards me, with his hands pressed over his eyes. His cheeks glimmer with tears in the candle's light, and his sobs shake his entire body. Between them, he is muttering: "He can't... can't come back... because... because he's dead."

I almost gasp as I realise that he is dreaming of the same event that has been haunting me for the last God-knows-how-long. 

I had forgotten. Caught amid my own grief, I had plain forgotten that other people had lost someone as well, when Sirius... passed on. And no-one more so than Remus, even though he always seemed so calm and composed. I had never suspected that he had been suffering in the same way as I had. But in a life so full of pain and loss, I suppose he has learnt to hide his grief well.

Then I come back to myself. Why am I just standing here like an idiot? I have to wake him. Stepping over to his bed, I touch his shoulder and say quietly,

"Remus? Wake up!" No response. I give his shoulder a small shake.

"Wake up! Come on, Remus!" My voice sounds fervent and childish. I lean over him and place both hands on his shoulders, gripping him roughly. I shake him again, and say, more firmly,

"Remus, it's alright. It's only a dream. You need to wake up." 

He brings his hands down from his face and opens his eyes in one rapid gesture. His eyes are panicked and tearful. He stares around desperately, then focuses on my face above him.

"James?" he says, hoarsely.

I'm too sensitive. I feel tears spring into my own eyes, even as he says it.

"No," I manage, at last. "It's Harry."

"Harry," he says, and closes his eyes briefly, as if in both relief and disappointment.   

"Are you okay?" I ask, quietly. "I think you were dreaming about..."

"Sirius," he finishes for me, in a whisper. Our eyes meet briefly, but I look away almost instantaneously. I feel I ought to apologize, for forgetting that he had been through something worse than I have.

"Remus, I'm sorry," I start. "I forgot, totally, that you also lost someone, when Sirius... died. I was selfish. I'm sorry." I stumble, tripping over the words. I hope the meaning is not lost. He looks at me again.

"Harry, I would not expect you to deal with my grief before you have dealt with your own," he says softly.

I look away. Away, out into the black night, and the crescent moon. And burning brightly, there, the Dog Star. I struggle to speak over the large lump in my throat.

"If I hadn't gone to the department of mysteries, Sirius would still be alive. I killed him, Remus."

"You did not, Harry. Bellatrix Lestrange cast the curse which made him fall through the veil."

"But I was a contributing factor."

"Lots of things were. And I should have been able to stop him going, to keep him here, at the last." There is self-hatred in Remus's voice. "So many times I have wished that I had stunned him, and tied him up, and left him here. Whether he would ever have forgiven me is dubious. But he would still be alive. You would still have him."

"He would have forgiven you. Eventually. You would still have him, too. But I don't blame you, Remus."

"Then do not blame yourself either."

"I can't help it! I tell myself that it wasn't my fault, I try to convince myself, and then in my nightmares he's come back, as a ghost. Blaming me. He's sworn revenge on me. Him and the others."

"The others?" 

"Cedric. And... my parents."

"Blaming you?"

I nod mutely, turning away so he won't see the tears that are blurring my vision. Then I voice a question that has only just occurred to me.

"Why don't you hate me, Remus? You ought to hate me. I've - I've killed so many people that were close to you. I've killed everyone you loved..."

I stop, and rub my eyes. Remus is silent. Perhaps he has only just realized that what I have said is true. Perhaps he will curse me. In a way, I want him to. When he finally speaks, his voice is firm and clear, though quiet. Occasional tremors betray the intensity of his emotions.

"Harry, you have never killed anyone. Do you understand? No-one, I repeat, no-one blames you for anyone's death. Including - and especially - me. I don't blame you for Lily and James's deaths, or for Sirius's. But that doesn't make it less painful."

We are silent. Then I find myself telling him something that I thought I would never tell to anybody. I swore to myself I wouldn't.

"You know something, Remus? When I was at the Dursley's, I wanted to kill myself." His horrified expression makes me with I hadn't said anything, for a moment. But then I realise that I need to say this to someone. "Not because I wanted to die, exactly. I just - I wanted to try and defy the prophecy. Dumbledore said that either I'll kill Voldemort, or he'll kill me. Well, I thought, hell to that. I'll do it myself, and save him the bother. And at the same time I would prove that Trelawney was just talking rubbish, as usual. Because if I killed myself, wouldn't it have proved the prophecy wrong? For a moment, I thought that Dumbledore was an old fool for believing anything that she said. But then, suddenly, for the first time, I knew that it was true. I could feel that the prophecy surrounding me... I felt like it was a part of me. I still do. I can't really explain it. Even so, I got out my wand, and pointed it at myself, and said 'Avada Kedavra'. Nothing happed." For the first time, the thought of what could have happened then sends a wave of panic through me. "I don't want to - to die, Remus. And I'm scared because I know I'm going to. Soon. It's not just that, though. If I could die in the knowledge that my death would save the world from Voldemort, I would. But I know that if I fail, and die by Voldemort's hand, I will have condemned far more people to death than if I'd joined Voldemort and become a Death Eater."

I have no idea where all of that came from. I put into words things that I barely knew I was feeling. Remus looks at me with terrible sorrow in his gaze. Sorrow, pity, and guilt.

"Come here, Harry," he says.

I go and sit down next to him. He reaches out, and pulls me towards him, so that my head is against my shoulder. I am trembling. He holds me tightly, like a young child. Like the baby I must have been when he last held me like this.

"What can I say to you?" he asks, as though thinking out loud. "I cannot tell you that it'll be alright, because I don't know that. I cannot bring any of the dead back for you. I myself cannot replace them for you either. I can't be your parents, and I can't be Sirius. But Harry, I promise that I will protect you, and do my best be here when you need me.' 

"Thank you," I say, after a while, indistinct against his shoulder. Then I add: "Will you promise me something else, Remus?" 

"I'll try."

"Promise me that you won't die for me? I'm - I'm really fed up with people doing that." 

He tightens his hold on me, almost reflexively, and lowers his head so that it rests on my shoulder. He is weeping again. I raise my own arms, and put them around him. Eventually he speaks, almost in a whisper. 

"I promise you, Harry, that I will not die for you."

"Thank you, Remus."

**_A/N: _**_I like readers. I like readers and reviewers even more._


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